


A Sword Sharp As Your Wit

by pauraque



Category: Monkey Island
Genre: Chromatic Yuletide, Gen, Misses Clause Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauraque/pseuds/pauraque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I remember fighting side-by-side with Carla at Port Royal... The local constabulary had us cornered! It looked like we were done for, but then she said—"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sword Sharp As Your Wit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gelishan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelishan/gifts).



> This story is mostly based on _The Secret of Monkey Island_ , with only passing references to the rest of the series. If you haven't played it... well, [you should](http://www.lucasarts.com/games/monkeyisland/). It rocks!
> 
> Many thanks to Hannelore for beta-reading. Any errors that remain are my own.

1681

The first time Carla picked up a sword, it was a splintery plank of driftwood with a crosspiece nailed on.

"En garde!" shouted Antonio, who, at eleven, was a year older than her. He brandished his own wooden sword, holding up his free hand behind him. There they did battle, barefoot on the beach, wood clacking on wood as they danced, whacking their swords against each other this way and that. Their shadows, too, danced on the sand in the long afternoon light, casting them and their makeshift weapons bigger than they really were.

Once he almost had her, pressing down on her so she had to parry with both hands. He was stronger, and grinned down at her as she grimaced; she tried to brace herself back on her heel, but the sand slipped away beneath her feet.

"You fight like a girl," he jeered.

Another step back, and her calf bumped against the heavy fallen palm there. She braced against it and leveraged one big push, sending Antonio staggering back, nearly losing his balance.

He threw back his head and laughed at her, the sweat on his cheeks shining in the sun.

Carla straightened up her back and stomped over to him. Grabbing his wooden sword by the blade, she wrenched it from his hand and tossed it behind her. He let out a yell of surprise and dismay, raising his hands as she pointed her weapon to his throat.

"How appropriate," she said, her breath ragged. "You fight like a boy."

*

1692

Treasure had never once been found on Isla Bianca, which was a place of falling-down houses made from little more than palms and driftwood, and which one could have seen straight across from shore to shore if not for the trees. So, when Carla's eye caught the glint of gold in the sand as she walked back from her fishing place, it would have been enough of a surprise on its own, even if the gold had not been _moving_.

When she leaned down to look closer, she saw what it was— a tiny crab, like many others on the beach there, but this one gleamed. Not just a shining-wet illusion, but undeniably gold. She set her bucket down and reached out— the crab skittered away. She tried for it again, and once more it sidled away from her fingertips. She glanced around, hoping no one was watching her look a fool, bending over to try to pick up a prize that was always out of reach.

Several more times it eluded her, until she saw that she had chased the crab near a tall but spindly banana tree, which was heavily bent from storm winds. If it fell, maybe...

Carla had to put her shoulder into it, but at last the tree cracked and came down, trapping the crab beneath its branches; it skittered madly in the trap, as though trying to dig a hole in the sand and escape that way. Carla found herself grinning triumphantly, but when she knelt down to claim her reward, the crab's little pincers snapped at her fingers.

She cursed, sucking the blood from her fingertip. After a moment's thought, she plucked one of the thick banana leaves from the fallen tree; that served well enough to grasp the nasty little thing.

Examining the golden crab up close, Carla at last saw the tiny hinge and clasp that held its shell closed. Its little metal limbs gyrated wildly as she pried it open with care. Of course there was no meat inside, but only letters engraved in beautiful calligraphy on the shining interior of the shell.

It read:

_Use claw with gate._

*

Isla Bianca had only one gate, which Englishmen said led to the lair of a witch, who was called only The Lady.

The Lady's supposed abode was surrounded on all sides with brambles that grew in a thick wall. It was said that no man could climb it, nor cut his way through. Carla doubted the legend as she strode alongside the barrier, which looked like an ordinary, if high, thorn bush to her. The brambles were loose enough that she got a flickering view of what was within as she went along— a tumbledown shack half sunk into the wet ground below. There was a frill of boards sticking up from the roof of it, which could have depicted a crown, or the rays of the sun.

The air was heavy with the smell of rain as Carla approached the gate. It was entangled in the brambles, with no fence or wall to be the doorway of. It had a rusty lock with a small keyhole, but there was nothing for it to lock into. It really looked like the whole thing would fall down with one good push. Squinting dubiously, Carla reached out to touch the lock.

Like a great beast drawing in a breath, the brambles grew and changed, coiling and grasping around the iron gate, clinging to it jealously. Carla drew back, her hand going instinctively to her sword, but after a moment, the wall was still again.

She took out the golden crab, which now struggled only intermittently, as though it was getting tired. It was shaped like a fiddler crab, with one big claw and one small.

"Use it how?" she muttered to herself, prodding at the little creature. The larger claw felt loose; when she tugged at it, it came free, revealing that it was the top of a tiny key, the blade of which had been hidden inside.

She did not even have to turn the key in the lock; the moment she touched it to the rusty iron, the brambles slithered away like frightened snakes, leaving the gate free, and with an ancient-sounding creak, it opened.

The rank, swampy smell of the wet earth made Carla dizzy as she approached the shack, which looked somehow less run-down than it had when peeking through the walls. She tried the door to the shack with sword drawn, and found it unlocked.

It was dim within, the scent of fire wafting out to her, and she entered slowly, letting her eyes adjust. Candles were lit along the walls, and a pot of something boiling sat on a claw-footed table before an empty chair. But surely whoever lived in this wooden house would not leave fire unattended...

"Ah, who could it be?" the voice from nowhere came; Carla's grip tightened on her weapon. "Wait, do not tell me, for I know your name..."

"My name is Carla," she said loudly, looking around, but seeing no one. "I'm not here to play games."

"On the contrary," the Lady said, appearing in her seat gradually, like the dawn lighting up the sky. Her smile, warm but somehow teasing, seemed to appear first, followed by the rest of her; a heavy woman with a painted face. A sorceress, said Carla's mind— or someone's idea of what a sorceress should be.

The Lady sat gazing with calm interest at the tip of Carla's sword until Carla began to feel foolish wielding it, and reluctantly put it away. "I... I found something that I think belongs to you," Carla said, and took the golden crab from her purse. It now lay as though dead in her palm, without its claw-key.

"So, you discovered its secret," said the Lady, sounding pleased with herself. "Many have tried before you."

"It wasn't that hard," Carla said, feeling defensive without knowing why. "A thief sees gold and thinks of a way to make it hers."

A smile played in the Lady's eyes. "Not much of a thief, are you, to bring gold back to its rightful owner?"

"Perhaps not," Carla conceded. "I suppose I was curious."

The Lady nodded with teacherly approval, which made Carla bristle. "A quick and curious mind is precisely what you will need for your next adventure."

Carla let out a short laugh. "Adventure? I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

"I am rarely wrong," the Lady said. "Those who visit me do so for a purpose."

A clatter as Carla tossed the golden crab onto the table. "There. Purpose served."

"I sense there is more to your destiny," said the Lady, looking at her evenly. "Much more."

"Oh, do you now?" Carla crossed her arms. "I don't remember asking your opinion on my destiny... Just who are you, anyway?"

The Lady did not answer. As Carla's last words hung in the air, the candles that lined the walls seemed to flare, and so did the simmering liquid in the pot between them— dancing with reflected candlelight, but also glowing with a light of its own. Water spat from the pot like it was about to boil over; Carla drew back.

Then, up from the pot there came a wisp of steam, which formed itself before Carla's eyes into a breeching whale, and then an image of the sea, glittering like it was made of little square pieces of cut glass. The picture changed again— a village overlooking a harbor, with swirls of clouds in its sky.

"Scabb Island," the Lady said. "This is where you will go. There is a something you must find... An idol that promises great power, not only for me, but also for you."

Carla shook her head. "I... What? What do you mean? What power?"

The image in the air changed again, showing a face that looked carved of stone. Smoky hands came from all directions, grasping for it and obscuring its appearance.

"The idol is said to command the world's own power, but it is not the idol itself that I want. It is what is within it. That is what is truly important, and what will bring you to your destiny. And to great riches, as well..."

Carla waved the image from the air before her and planted her hands down on the table. "I don't have time for tricks. Why should I believe anything you say?"

"A little skepticism is always refreshing," said the Lady, who seemed to be holding back a smile. "But I think you will come to see things my way. Here..." She held out her hand to Carla, though it had never visited her purse, and when she opened her fingers, she held a gleaming gold coin, larger than a dollar.

Carla opened her mouth to object, but the Lady spoke first.

"This is not a bribe, nor a payment. It is a talisman that can take you to Scabb Island in an instant. Use it, or use it not, but humor me and take it, if you would."

Carla hesitated, but took the coin with suspicion. It was lighter than it looked, and engraved with broadly-drawn images of a parrot, a skull, and a hand.

*

As Carla walked back down to the village, away from the Lady's shack, the clouds had gone a deep blue-gray, and the wind was making the palms whip hard back and forth. Men and women were battening down tents and tying ropes to windows, calling to children and dogs to come inside. Carla gazed up doubtfully at the darkening sky; she flinched as cold droplets began to fleck at her face.

Carla's one-room house was well inland, away from the main body of the village. As night fell and rain battered on the walls around her, she sat on the floor, looking at the Lady's coin balanced on her knees. The rain's hiss became a roar, and Carla heard the crack of a tree falling to the wind, loud as the thunder. Shouts from the village. Carla's thumb traced the coin's engravings. Parrot. Skull. Hand.

"Damn it," she whispered.

The house around her shuddered, and the roof split from its walls, opening to sky, rain, and wind. A board ripped free and Carla only just blocked it with the side of her arm.

Heart in her throat, she grasped the coin firmly to her palm, and vanished from her house as it collapsed.

*

She came to herself on the street of an unfamiliar town, dizzy but otherwise none the worse for wear. Quickly pocketing the Lady's coin, she ensured that she still had her sword. It was night here too, but the air was still and smelled only of the sea, not of rain. It was a cobblestone path she stood on, lined with sturdy little shops and taverns, their lit windows looking sleepy-eyed.

One door opened, letting out a snatch of music and laughter from within.

When she walked into the tavern, it went quiet— the quiet of trouble brewing. For a moment all eyes were on her but no one made a move; carrying a good Spanish sword tended to have that effect on pirates, who were cowards for the most part.

At last a ratty-looking one leaned out of his seat by the door, and spoke leeringly: "Hey, lovely lass. You know how to use that blade? Or is it just fer lookin' pretty?"

"Do you know how to use that tongue?" she sneered. "Or is it just for sounding like a fool?"

The other men around him cackled. The rat's eyes narrowed, and he stood, approaching her with dagger drawn. "Lovely lady's not too nice..."

"Lay a hand on me tonight and you'll be shopping for hooks tomorrow."

The rat hesitated, then made a jump for her that she could see coming a mile away. In an instant she had him flipped to the floor, his dagger clattering away, and the tip of her sword at his throat.

"Maybe it's time for you to leave," she said evenly. "I hate to get a nice clean tavern floor all bloody so early in the evening."

The rat muttered something that sounded like "Oh yeah?" as he crawled back from her sword and scrambled out the door.

Carla sheathed her sword and surveyed the room, her look asking— _Anyone else?_ Men turned back to their drinks, and the flow of talk and song resumed as she made her way to the bar.

"Do you rent the rooms up above?" Carla asked the barman, who looked at her uneasily, wiping out a tankard with a filthy cloth.

"Who wants to know?"

She flashed a coin from her purse, and the barman nodded. "Take a seat, stranger. You look thirsty to me."

"I guess I could use a drink," she admitted grimly, sitting down at the bar. A fine green grog was plunked down before her, giving off a little smoke. She waved the wisps away, annoyed.

"Better drink it down quick," said the man beside her, a smile in his voice. "Eats right through the pewter if you leave it be."

Ignoring him, she took a swig and grimaced.

"The name's Smirk," the man went on gamely. "What's your business on Scabb?"

"None of yours."

"You looking for work? I could use an extra sword on my side just about now..."

"At the moment, all I want is to get off this island."

"Well, there's luck for ya. I sail for Port Royal in the morning."

She turned to appraise the man. The bulky type, more strength than finesse. He was missing an eye, and grinned a mouth full of pearly whites around the cigar butt he was chomping. He had a bottle of red wine to himself; no glass.

"I don't suppose you're offering passage for free."

He stubbed out his cigar in the glass ashtray on the bar. "Free if you're working. Like I said, I could use a pirate like you."

"I'm not a pirate."

"Sure, or _privateer_ ," —air quotes— "or whatever we're callin' ourselves these days..."

"What do you need me for?" she asked suspiciously. "I make it a point not to cross swords with other people's enemies."

"No, no, nothin' like that..." He leaned in closer to her, and in the same motion, as though he was just moving his arm, he slid the ashtray off the bar and into his purse. "It's a bounty we're after."

Her eyes flicked downward. "You're not worried that's a fire hazard?"

A puzzled look. "Bounty-huntin'?"

"I— never mind. This bounty, whose head is it on?"

"Not who. What."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me. An idol of unspeakable power..."

He shushed her and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, barely audible against the background din of the tavern. "Don't let 'em hear. You're after it too?"

"Well..."

"Listen. Help me out, and once we return the idol, you'll get an equal cut of the reward. Four way split with me and the crew. Better chance than both of us goin' it alone."

"You must be pretty desperate for a hand if you're making offers like that to perfect strangers."

Smirk visibly swallowed his pride. "You got me there. They say it ain't worth the money, not where they got it locked up."

"But you think it is?"

"Ten thousand, four ways..." Smirk's eyes followed the bartender as he moved to fill a drink at the other end of the bar, and when his back was turned, he slid a corkscrew off the bar top and into his waiting hand. "It's a chunk of change."

"It's worth that much?"

The corkscrew went into Smirk's purse too, clinking against the ashtray inside. "They say it ain't just a piece of rock. The world's own power's what it's got, that's what they say..."

"Oh? And what does that mean, exactly?"

He shrugged. "Beats the tar outta me. But if Marley thinks that's what it's worth, who are we to argue, huh?" The grin again.

Carla considered. He seemed to have no idea how much he'd told her that she didn't already know. But she did need a way off the island.

"I'm going to regret this," she said, and offered her hand to shake.

"That's the way," he said, grinning, and clasped her hand. "My ship's at anchor. C'mon aboard and we'll have a chat."

As they stood to leave, Smirk swiped a salt shaker from the bar and stuffed it in his pocket. Hesitated, then took the pepper grinder too.

*

The four of them— Carla, Smirk, and Smirk's two crewmen— leaned over the map of Port Royal, candlelight flickering over their faces.

"They've got the idol hidden here," Smirk said, jabbing his finger into the parchment, "in Fort James. It'll be crawling with guards."

"So what's your plan?"

"We create a diversion. Here." Now he pointed to the sea where the fort overlooked it. "You two'll sail her around the front and fire off a warning shot or two. Then when they're busy with that, me and Carla sneak in the back."

Carla and the crewmen looked at him with profound dubiety.

"And what happens when they sink us?" asked Gill.

"How will we get away with the loot without a ship?" asked Stern.

"Not to mention, I don't think it's that easy to just 'sneak in the back' of a fort," Carla added.

"You won't be _in_ the boat when she sinks," Smirk said patiently, as though explaining to a child. "Just fire off the cannons and then abandon ship! From there we'll take it on foot. It's not far to Kingston. I got a great hideout there. Then when the heat dies down, we book passage to Mêlée."

Gill and Stern glanced at each other, and then at Carla.

It was at least the second stupidest plan she'd ever heard of, but then again— what was to stop her from ditching him as soon as he realized they couldn't break into the fort? At least she'd be off this island.

"Sounds good to me," she said.

*

They got going early, with the scent of dying wood fires on the air, and the cries of gulls echoing in the relative stillness of morning. This was the quietest time in Port Royal, when most self-respecting pirates were still passed out from the night's revelry.

Carla's heart was beating quickly as they made their way up behind Fort James, sure to stay hidden behind the high wall. There was a huge metal gate, too sheer to climb, and topped with wicked-looking spikes even if one could have climbed it.

Right on time, the sound of cannon fire echoed distantly from the sea. They could hear the shouts and scuffle of sleepy guardsmen going to see what the fuss was about.

"There we are," Smirk murmured with satisfaction.

"There we are what?" Carla whispered back. "We still can't get in."

Smirk didn't answer. He was examining the ground by the gate. "There's usually something," he muttered to himself. He stooped to pick up a large, glossy stone, squinting at it.

"Smirk, what are you—"

He shook the stone; it gave a hollow rattle. Turned it over— a cork in the bottom. Smirk dug in his purse and produced the corkscrew. Popped the cork and shook something out into his palm. With a grin, he held it up to show her. A key.

Carla stood there staring for a moment as Smirk unlocked the gate and headed through. Shaking her head, she followed him in.

The back wall of the fort opened onto a sunny courtyard, free of guardsmen— for now. As they crossed, Carla felt something hollow beneath her foot; she paused and stepped back to it again, beckoning Smirk back to her.

"Trap door," she said.

And so it was. It opened onto a drop of ten feet or so; Carla went in first, hanging by her fingertips for a moment before dropping to the wooden floor. Dust motes danced in the slanted light, which fell directly onto the marble idol, sitting right there on the ground, not even under lock and key. It looked just like what the Lady had shown her, which didn't make her feel any more at ease. This was too simple...

Fingers on the hilt of her sword, she peered around cautiously. There was nothing here but the statue, and no other way out, no doors or windows... She heard Smirk's larger frame awkwardly scuffling at the trap door above her, and turned with a sudden thought.

"No, stay up there," she warned him. "There's no way back up. You'll have to pull me out."

"Is it there?" he asked eagerly, craning his neck to try to see down into the room.

"Yes," she said, kneeling down before it. It had a marble base that was large, square, and solid; she tried to get her fingers beneath it on the dusty floor, but there was nothing to grip onto. Putting her palms flat against it did no good; she couldn't even come close to budging it, neither pushing nor pulling.

"Well? You got it?"

The muffled sound of cannon fire boomed from above. She hoped Gill and Stern could swim.

"It's too heavy," she grunted. "Even if I could move it, there's no way I could lift it up to you."

"Come up, then," he said, sounding impatient. "I'll go down and snag it."

"You may be stronger than me, but not that much. I think I— Wait..."

She got down on her hands; what she thought at first was just a crack along the base, now that she looked more closely— it seemed too straight, intentionally carved there.

"I think there's a way to get the statue off the base. Hang on." She pried at it with her fingers, but that did no good. The opening was too narrow for her sword, but the Lady's coin just barely fit. When she jiggled it in the opening, the statue made a loud click, turning slightly on its base. Then another.

"Uh, Carla, you might wanna hurry..."

"Almost got it," she said, as much to herself as to him. When the statue had made a quarter turn, it came loose in Carla's hands. Without the base it was only a few pounds, and easy enough to lift...

The ground rumbled below her. Not cannon fire— this was different.

She gazed up; Smirk was looking behind him.

"Smirk, I've got it!" she called. "Take it and then pull me up!"

"They're coming, hurry it up," he growled, stretching his arm down to take the statue, which, standing on tiptoe, she could just barely put into his hand.

"Stop right there!" echoed a deep voice from above. "Thief!"

The earth trembled again.

"Carla, I gotta lose these clowns," he hissed down to her urgently. "Meet me in Kingston."

"No! Smirk, wait, I can't—!"

But he was gone; the shadows of the guardsmen passed over the trap door along with their pounding feet, and Carla was alone in the chamber.

That was when the earthquake hit in earnest.

She didn't know if it was as big as it felt, or if it was just the fact that she was underground, but the earth seemed to roll beneath her like a heavy sea. She braced herself against the wall, and the shocks just kept coming. She could hear stones and boards crashing to the ground above. It seemed to take an age before the main part of it was over, and even after that, Carla's underground prison kept shivering around her, which didn't make it any easier to think.

"Don't suppose you're going to help me out of this one?" she asked the Lady's coin, now scratched from where it had pried the statue loose. No miracle this time. She stuffed the coin back in her purse with a scowl.

Call for help? She'd likely be arrested as Smirk's accomplice. She looked around the room again— had she missed anything? No, there was nothing, just bare walls and dust... Well, and the marble statue base.

She looked more closely at it now, and saw that the statue had left a hole in the base big enough to reach in. Kneeling again, she felt inside gingerly; her fingers brushed something that felt like paper, and crinkled like paper too. She got a grip on it and pulled it free— a smallish package wrapped in brown paper and frayed yellow string. Felt like it held something soft, maybe cloth? She started to tug at the wrapping, but a sound from above stopped her.

A rush like a river that grew louder, closer... Standing, she backed away from the trap door, gazing up. Seawater poured down into the chamber in a gushing waterfall, churning up the dust on the floor. Carla stuffed the package into her belt; the dirty water quickly covered the floor of the small chamber and soaked through her shoes, rising fast.

Carla drew a breath and let it out slowly. This escape wasn't going to be pleasant.

*

Soaking wet, she at last hauled herself back onto land, spitting out seawater. Port Royal was transformed— half the city had simply sunk, like the ground below had turned to water. She made her way up to High Street, men running past her in the other direction. What now?

The water was still rising, not quickly, but inexorably. She climbed the path that led to the interior of the island, and below there was the wreckage of what looked like it had been an inn, in which two armored city guardsmen had cornered a looter, swords drawn. A big white man— oh.

"You won't take me alive," Smirk jeered at them, at which point Carla realized he was even more of an idiot than she'd thought.

He still had the idol.

It was with a feeling of imminent regret that Carla slid down the hill, landing behind the guardsmen with her feet in the pooling water and her sword drawn. They both turned to see what Smirk was looking at— fools— and Smirk clocked one over his helmeted head with the idol, sending him reeling.

The other lunged for Carla; she sidestepped his blade, making him face into the morning sun. The mud and water swirling around her ankles slowed her down, but it slowed the guardsman down too, turning their duel into an awkward quicksand scuffle.

Smirk tackled the one he'd hit, pinning him in the water; he splashed and spluttered, but couldn't get Smirk off of him. Coins and silverware spilled from Smirk's pockets into the muck.

The shaken-down beams and pieces of the roof made the former inn a maze of splintery hazards; Carla was lighter and quicker, and she lured the guard over fallen tables and cracked planks, turning his heavy armor to her own advantage. It didn't make a pretty sword fight, but it worked: at last his heavy boot caught on something, and he fell hard, cracking his head on the side of a piano.

She leapt past him, calling to Smirk, "Run!"

But Smirk was struggling to get to his feet in the slippery mud, and before he managed it, the guard came back to himself, and Carla found herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

For a second all was still. The guardsman looked dazed, but was smiling. Carla swallowed.

"I think you best drop that blade," the guardsman said.

"I always heard the guardsmen of Port Royal were cowards," Carla heard herself say, "but I never dreamed you'd bring a pistol to a sword fight."

Smirk made a little choking noise at the back of his throat.

Carla could almost see the guardsman's eyes fill with red.

"Oh— oh yeah?" he stammered, and she could barely believe it— He dropped his pistol, lost in the muddy water, and fumbled for his short sword.

But it was all over before he even had it drawn.

*

Adrenaline had taken them as far into the jungle interior as they could run. Smirk dropped to a sit, huffing and red-faced. Carla trembled as she held to a tree, feeling now the bruises and exhaustion washing over her.

"That was some trick you pulled," Smirk panted at last. "You're lucky as hell he was as dumb as he looked."

For a moment, her jaw worked speechlessly. " _You're_ lucky I'm a strong swimmer, or it'd be my blood on your hands."

He looked taken aback. "Not like I had a choice!" he barked. "They were comin' for me!"

"And you had no choice but to stop and _loot_ on your way out of town?"

He huffed a laugh, rolling down onto his back, arms outstretched. The idol was still clutched in his hand. "Carla, that stuff was hanging out in the open just waitin' for me to take it."

"Oh," she said. "See, I'd have thought maybe when you were running for your life, just once you could have suppressed the urge to _steal anything that isn't nailed down_."

"Hey." Smirk pointed a weary finger at her. "Picking up what ain't nailed down is what got me where I am today."

 _Exactly_ , she thought.

"You see any sign of Gill or Stern back there?" he asked.

"No. I was a little busy trying not to _die_."

"Well, forget 'em. We gotta find passage and get this sucker back to Mêlée."

"Better to split the reward fifty-fifty than four ways, right?" she said, sharply sarcastic.

"Now you're talkin'," he chuckled, rubbing the idol like a magic lamp.

*

"Aw, don't be sore, Carla," Smirk said as they stepped onto the dock at Mêlée Island and made their way around the harbor. "How was I supposed to know Scabb'd be flooded out too?"

"We _could_ ," Carla ground out, "have just come to Mêlée _first_."

"You heard the lads, they voted fair and square. And I don't know what you're worked up about anyway— a dozen ships washed up on that shore, and something pretty to find in every one." He flipped a coin in the air and caught it. "That's my idea of a right swell time."

They were treading now on a quiet coastal path, dark and empty. Caught up in her fuming thoughts, it took a while for Carla to realize that she didn't know where they were.

"Are you sure this is the way?" she asked cautiously. "I thought the governor's mansion was closer to town."

Smirk chuckled. "Just gotta check something out first. But don't you worry. You'll get your cut."

As they approached the squat, dark house at the end of the path, Carla was aware of her blade, and never took her eyes off Smirk for a second.

He let her in and lit a lantern. The inside of the house was spacious, with swords of every kind lining the walls, and in the middle of the floor, something big was covered by a tarpaulin. It somehow felt colder inside than outside; Carla blew into her hands.

"Home sweet home," Smirk said. "And now, for the main event..."

He pulled the tarpaulin off, and underneath there was some kind of... contraption. It looked like an explosion at an arsenal, bristling with weaponry that stuck out in all directions, and mounted on wheels that seemed too small to balance the thing.

"Thumbscrews just don't cut it anymore?" Carla asked.

"It— no! It's not an iron maiden, it's a sparring partner!" Smirk sputtered. "An automaton! Never gets tired, never makes a wrong move. Swordfighter wannabes'll come for miles around to have a crack at this baby when she's up and running."

Carla moved to look at the thing from all sides. She knocked on the metal casing, which made a hollow echo.

"You're a lunatic," she observed.

Smirk laughed. "That's all right. I'm fixing to be a rich, famous lunatic."

"If you're trying to impress me, it's not working," said Carla bluntly. "I'm cold and I'm tired and I just want to give that stupid idol back to the governor and be done with it."

Smirk didn't answer. He was opening a panel on the machine, and reaching inside with the hand that held the idol.

"What are you doing?"

"The world's own power," he said, speaking more to himself than to her. "If this doesn't get her going, nothing will."

"What? Don't! What if it—"

She moved to stop him, but it was too late. He pulled a ripcord on the contraption, and it roared like a bear, shuddering to life. Carla braced herself for the earth to move...

...but it didn't.

The machine gave a few coughs and growls, and then was still.

Looking betrayed, Smirk pulled the cord a few more times. Nothing. He ripped the idol from the contraption, sending a few screws flying, and throttled it in his hands like it was a mutineer.

"It doesn't work!" he snarled. "Damn that lying old crone! Power of the world, my foot!" He threw the idol to the ground; it clattered hard against the floorboards.

"You were never going to return the idol," Carla said quietly. "You just wanted it for an engine part."

"Well, that was the idea, all right, but it's back to square one now!" He cursed under his breath and kicked a wooden wheel. "Maybe it could run on steam, or animal power..."

The idol was lying on the floor at Carla's feet.

She couldn't help but notice that it wasn't nailed down.

*

Standing before the beautiful young governor in her warm and richly-appointed mansion, Carla was acutely aware of her filthy clothes and generally bedraggled appearance. Governor Marley was kind enough not to comment, though she didn't invite Carla to sit down on the nice clean sofa, either.

"Thank you," the governor said as Carla placed the idol into her hands. "The idol may have been merely a path to riches for you, but it has a great deal of sentimental value to me. And I know it wasn't easy to retrieve."

"I'm sorry I lost the base," Carla said, conscious of the wrapped package still tucked in her belt.

"Oh, that's no matter. The thing was too heavy by half, with it on. If I'd known it came off, I'd have had it off myself ages ago." She set it down carefully on the table and clasped her hands together. "Are you staying on Mêlée long? I should like to hear the story of how you found it, if you don't mind telling."

"I'm afraid a lot of it was luck," Carla admitted.

A smile played over the governor's lips. "Modesty becomes you. Tales are already being told of the swordswoman whose wit is as sharp as her blade..."

"I wasn't looking for fame. Just trying to stay in one piece, for the most part."

"Of course. Well, please accept the bounty. And, again... my sincerest thanks." The governor stood on tiptoe and kissed Carla on the cheek.

"My pleasure," Carla murmured.

*

Carla wasn't surprised, somehow, that the Lady was in Mêlée Town.

Her current lair was laid out like a shop inside, with little sealed bottles lining the shelves, as though expecting tourists to buy them. Cat knuckles. Monkey flakes. Carla gave them the side-eye as she entered.

"Ah. You have returned to me." The Lady now wore a long dress of flower-printed cotton, and her feet were bare.

"Only just," Carla said through gritted teeth. "Was it really necessary to throw a hurricane at Isla Bianca to get me to leave?"

"It was the simplest way," the Lady said, unabashed. "Did you find what I bid you look for?"

"I guess I did." Carla took out the paper-wrapped packet and tossed it into the Lady's lap. "I'm sure you couldn't have just _told_ me what the idol would do."

"Would you have looked for it if I had?"

Carla's jaw clenched. "You coward," she growled. "Why don't you do your own dirty work?"

The Lady didn't flinch. "It is not a matter of courage or cowardice. Merely of taking the path that is meant to be."

"What's that supposed to—" Carla cut herself off. "No. Never mind. You're a charlatan. You hide behind mysterious words, and they don't mean a thing." She snatched up a cloth doll from atop a trunk and shook it. "This is _not_ voodoo." She threw it to the ground.

The Lady was giving her that even look again. After a pause, she said, "Voodoo is a name some men give to anything they don't understand. Does it strike you that I may have some reason to encourage their misapprehension?"

Carla scoffed. "You don't say. You told me the idol was on Scabb Island. It wasn't."

"I did not say the idol was there," the Lady replied soberly. "I only said that was where you must go."

"Well, I won't be going there again." Carla pulled the coin from her purse and flipped it into the Lady's lap too.

The Lady seemed to barely notice; she was tugging at the knotted strings that held the package shut. "You never opened it," she commented. "I confess surprise..."

"Curiosity killed the cat," Carla deadpanned.

The Lady smiled. She pushed the paper aside, and pulled free what the package contained, which was a folded piece of white cotton cloth. She held it up to herself with an expression of satisfaction. She looked as though she was reading the front of it, but she did not tell Carla what it said, nor did Carla ask.

"All right," Carla said, turning to leave. "That's enough adventure for one lifetime."

"Oh," the Lady said. "Wait one moment. I think this belongs to you."

With a roll of her eyes, Carla turned, and saw what the Lady was holding out to her.

It was a small wooden sword.

Her stomach dropping, Carla took it, and opened her mouth to speak, to ask...

But the Lady was gone.

*

Carla had no real need for ten thousand pieces of eight, but after the storm on Isla Bianca, she did have need of a home. The jingle of a hefty sack of coins plunked down on the merchant's counter made the old man's eyes go starry, and it was a short conversation, then, to close the deal that sold Carla the house on that lonely forest hill.

It was a long walk from Mêlée Town, but that was just what she wanted, then. It was quiet but for cricket song, though sometimes when the wind was right, she caught snatches of calliope in circus season. There was room for her to think and to sleep, and there was space, at last, for books. The forest was cool on hot nights, and though the paths were twisty and looked all alike, no matter where she wandered she always ended up at home.

Carla gave the wooden sword a place of honor on the wall, above the fireplace. Not only did it look like the toy swords of her youth, but it even smelled like childhood— the rot of driftwood and the salt of the sea.


End file.
